St Mungo's and Me
by FlashFiction
Summary: The paths of Rolanda Hooch and the famous wizarding hospital have met many times, with interesting consequences.


Chapter One

Rolanda Hooch, Chaser for the England Quidditch team, sat up and looked at the room that she found herself in. It was white; the walls, the floor, the bed. She was sitting in a bed, a white sheet covering her legs, wearing her red and white Quidditch robes. Next to her was a bedside table, on which sat a small vase filled with daisies. A mirror hung on the wall opposite. Rolanda sniffed one of the daisies and ran her hair through her short brown hair. She couldn't remember why she was here. Where was here? She looked in the mirror, her bright yellow, hawk like eyes staring back. Her mouth, usually in a teasing half smile, frowned. Why couldn't she remember where she was? It was most tedious. Although, forgetting where you were, why you were there and what you had done before hand sounded very much like something Rolanda would do, in fact it _was _something she had done a few times before. It usually started out as an innocent party that would soon spiral into an adventure she couldn't remember in the morning.

She pushed herself up straight and winced. Her ribs hurt, her arms hurt and her head hurt. Many explanations ran through her head; break dancing, cage fighting, paint balling, real people wizard chess. Just as she was about to get up, the door swung open and a man wearing a lime green uniform walked in. He had dark chestnut hair and serious brown eyes. He carried a clip board in his hands. Rolanda smiled and raised an eyebrow. He was young, younger than she was, but Rolanda had no scruples where that was concerned. He was good looking and she had a thing about younger men anyway.

He flipped a sheet of parchment over on his clip board and nodded.

"Miss Hooch." he said, his voice low and efficient. "I see you're awake."

"Yes I am." Rolanda said, leaning forward slightly. "Very much awake. Can I inquire as to where I have woken up?"

"St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries." the man said, not even looking up from his notes.

"Oh." Rolanda said, sitting backwards looking disappointed. "I was hoping for some kind of drunken love affair. This isn't your house then?"

"No," the man said in a disapproving voice, "this is St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. You've had a injury playing Quidditch."

That made a lot of sense. Currently the Quidditch World Cup was being played, Rolanda, one of the stars on the English team, being praised highly in many wizarding publications for her play during the pool rounds. A reporter from the daily prophet had called her "the most unpredictable player in the tournament" and said "it's amazing how something so small can have so much energy". The last game they had played was a quarter final against Transylvania, though that was the only detail Rolanda had any recollection of.

"Oh." Rolanda said again. "I guess that accounts for the Quidditch Robes. What exactly happened, do you know?"

"You fell off your broom." the man replied. "Well, you were pushed off your broom. From what I hear, you shouldn't have been insulting the Transylvanian captain."

"Just a bit of good old fashioned banter!" Rolanda grinned. "It never hurt anyone!"

"I'd be more inclined to agree if you weren't sitting here with several serious fractures and minor concussion." the man said dryly.

"We won the game though?" Rolanda said, her voice suddenly going deadly serious.

"Yes," he nodded, a little uneasy under the intensity of her gaze. "I believe you did."

"Then no harm done." Rolanda smiled. "So why aren't my team huddled around my sick bed?"

"You've been unconscious for two days." the man said, showing little sympathy. "They were here at the start, but they left to go to practice. They seemed to think it was what you would've wanted."

"Damn right, it's what I would've wanted!" Rolanda cried. "We haven't come this far just to lose the cup now!"

The man straightened up and coughed, as if to say that there were more important things than a trophy. He took his wand and ran it over Rolanda, an enchanted quill taking down notes on a piece of parchment next to him.

"That all seems to be in order."

"Good, good." Rolanda beamed. "Now I must be off. We've got the semis coming up and I need to be in top form."

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible."

"What?"

"You can't leave. We're keeping you in for observation. You'll be here for a week."

"A week?"

Rolanda stared at him and gave a cold, forced laugh.

"You don't seem to understand. The semis are in five days."

"Yes."

"And I'm in here for seven days?"

"That is correct."

"Well, I can't play Quidditch if I'm in hospital!"

"No."

Rolanda narrowed her eyes.

"I'm not sure I like what you're suggesting." she said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Are you telling me I won't be playing in this coming match?"

The man gave an exasperated sigh.

"That is exactly what I am saying Miss Hooch. And there's no use arguing. It's all been signed off with your coach and the head healer."

"Fine." Rolanda whispered, though her facial expression suggested otherwise.

"We can get you something to entertain you whilst you stay. A book or a magazine perhaps?"

"A magazine?" Rolanda said disdainfully. "I'm an international Quidditch player. I can't sit still for more than ten minutes and you expect me to quietly read _a magazine_? I'd rather stick my head in cement."

The man muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "it can be arranged."

Rolanda looked at him, her yellow eyes boring into his brown ones.

"You're a very good looking man, did you know that?" she said, rather off topically.

The healer spluttered something indistinguishable, obviously thrown by this remark.

"Yes," Rolanda sighed, "not bad at all. I mention it because I like you. Well, I very much want to like you. But your lack of emotion, lack of sympathy and disgusting disregard for the importance of the beautiful game that is Quidditch makes it very hard."

"I'm just trying to do my job." the man said, with obvious coldness.

"And I'm sure you do it beautifully." she said. "But you could work a little patient relations."

"And _you _could work on your attitude!" the man growled. "You might be a star on the pitch, but this is a hospital and you're no longer God!"

He seemed quite taken back by his sudden outburst but Rolanda just clapped.

"Bravo." she purred, her mouth curved in the half smile she was famous for.

"I apologise." the man said, gruffly.

"Don't." Rolanda said. "I've always liked fire."

Quickly recovering, the man collected his clip board, quill and wand and went towards the door.

"If you need anything just ring the bell." he said, pointing towards a silver bell and chain that floated above the bed.

"Who do I ask for?" Rolanda said.

"One of the nurses will come-"

"You misunderstand my question." she interrupted. "What do I call you?"

The man hesitated at the door for a second, as if wondering whether giving this woman his real name was going to be a problem.

"Richard Awbrey." he said after a while.

"Right then "Richard Awbrey"," Rolanda smiled, "if I need anything I'll ask for you personally. You know this might not be so bad after all."

Richard paused at the door and said, "don't do anything stupid."

Rolanda said nothing but her smile clearly said, "I make no promises."


End file.
